


you are doomed, but just enough

by misskass



Category: Funhaus (Video Blogging RPF), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, i feel like maybe it's bad to tag for that so specifically, kovntag, rtx sydney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 23:18:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13937562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskass/pseuds/misskass
Summary: Adam’s stuck in his goddamn head, jetlagged, for-fucking-ever away from his home and his bed, and unable to find solitude on the noisy convention floor, but Lawrence knows how to get him out of it.(or, if you were a church, i’d get on my knees)





	you are doomed, but just enough

Adam's been sour all day, doped by jetlag (he knew the flight to Australia was long, but he'd forgotten how horribly, _torturously_ long it really was) and only just surviving on coffee and the solitude he can sneak in the bathrooms, away from the others. So when it comes time to be herded along to the Eleven Little Roosters panel by a group of guardians, some with totally unsubtly lingering eyes... Adam's not in the best of moods.

Still, he's a consummate professional, and allows himself to escorted down to the panel theatre by the orange-shirted cohort. As he walks into the backstage area - less a backstage area and more a temporary collection of walls to shield them from the crowd beside the theater - he hears a few lingering conversations outside the thin walls, muffled only by the frantic sounds of three other men changing into their costumes.

Narrowly avoiding being kicked by an energetic Bruce, who is desperately fighting his leather pants, Adam kneels to pull his costume from the suitcase in the corner of the room, unzipping the suit bag to reveal Koko's tiny wardrobe. Sighing, he changes slowly, slipping out of his clothes and dumping them unceremoniously in the corner. He drags on his own leather pants, wincing as they pull hairs along his thighs, then slips easily into the mesh shirt, tight against his chest. The bracers are up next, settling snug against his forearms, held on by thin elastic, then he puts on the dumb red hat, tilting it gently forwards to shield his face.

While he dresses, the crowd scream as Blaine, Josh, and Will enter the theatre next door. Adam is dragged out of his own head by a hand on his arm. Lawrence - well, Lars - has his fingers wrapped around Adam's wrist, and is looking him carefully in the eye. "You okay?" Lars... Lawrence seemed serious, his voice not yet tinged with the ridiculous German accents that Josh had coached them into using for the show.

Adam just shrugs, focuses on the studded collar fitted tight around Lawrence's neck instead of his eyes. "Yeah. Tired." He pulls his wrist back and turns to Bruce, who has finally slithered his way into his leather pants and is turning over a plastic airhorn in his hand. Even though he can feel Lawrence's eyes still on him, Adam doesn't look up again, hiding anxiously behind the brim of his hat.

"One of our guardians gave this to me, should we use it onstage?" Adam's skin is tight and he isn't really listening as the others discuss the horn and then consider their secret arrival into the theatre. He stares down at his feet and settles against a nearby table, twitching his toes in his jackboots while his mind runs empty. James' voice washes over Adam as he slips into his Wilhelm accent and wiggles his hands at Bruce and Lawrence, planning some kind of joke for the audience.

Minutes later that feel like only seconds, Lawrence has his hand on Adam's skin again, cool against the flush of uneasiness slowly creeping along Adam's body. Adam looks up to catch Lawrence's gaze, expecting to see a flash of orange shadow under his glasses to match the rest of the costume, but instead he's met with only pale hazel eyes, soft with worry but with an underlying bite that makes Adam want to shiver.

"Are you sure?" Lawrence's eyes are kind but his voice is hard, low so Brüce and Wilhelm - both firmly in character and deep in fake-German discussion - can't hear them. Adam wants to twist away from his grasp again but there is power in Lawrence's touch, radiating tension across Adam's forearm. As Adam breathes in, he is very aware of Lawrence's thumb pressing just this side of _too hard_ against the veins in his wrist. A warning.

Blessedly saved by the bell - or, more accurately, the clicking of a pair of fingers and the rattling of a plastic toy - Adam diverts his attention from Lawrence's gaze and tugs his arm back towards his body, letting out a rough breath as Lawrence releases him.

"It's time for ze show, my little boyz," James winks as he hams up the accent, carefully sliding open one of the theatre doors and slipping into the dark room. Lawrence follows him closely and Adam can see him getting into character, watching as he flicks the switch from Sonntag to Lars, but the hard lines of his broad shoulders don't relax as he disappears into the theatre. Bruce trails behind, shaking the airhorn by his side, stage jitters getting the best of him.

Adam takes a second before he moves, brushes the thumb of his other hand over his wrist, imagines a bruise blooming where Lawrence had been holding him. Instead of tired he's _electrified_ , not just by the necessity of needing to be On for the audience, but by Lawrence's touch, by the meaning behind his rough grasp.

Adam knows that the second they step out of the panel, he is _fucked_.

-

Half an hour later, spurred on by the raucous cheers of the audience, the Sex von Shaukel Boyz burst back into the changing room, practically vibrating. Adam's skin prickles as he brushes against James on the way in, riding high on their first public performance and the response of the crowd.

"Oh mein _gott_ ," James crows at Bruce, bumping him with his shoulder, "did you see ze girls going wild?" Adam can see the way the adoration gets to James, puffing him up, forcing his shoulders back and his chest out, the very image of a peacock-turned-man. Bruce is clearly enjoying himself as well, turning his back to tug off his vest and shove it into the costume suitcase, but he's holding himself together.

"Oh ja," Bruce drawls, winking at James. "Ze ladies loved Brüce."

With a fake look of offense on his face, James mutters back, "Nein, zey love Wilhelm."

"Brüce." "Wilhelm!" "Brüce..." " _Nein_ , Wilhelm, und his sexy suspenders." James pulls his jacket down over his shoulders, revealing his bare chest and the totally unnecessary suspenders underneath, and winks comically at Bruce, fluttering his eyelashes. Bruce laughs, the charade is over, and Adam stands to the side as Bruce and James shed their costumes and return to their street clothes, waving them off as they leave the room together.

Adam chuckles at the discarded airhorn, abandoned by Bruce on the floor of the changing room, and steps towards his pile of clothes. He's still hyped up from the performance, even though it was just a Q&A it had been a thrill to be a character again, to be onstage as Koko, not Kovic, to have the freedom to say whatever he liked. It hadn't gone unnoticed that the others were acting up as well, Lars rubbing Brüce's leg while he spoke without even calling it out, Wilhelm darting glances across the stage at Lars, running his tongue along his teeth inside a wolfish grin. Adam knew that it had all been feverishly captured on film, and he relished in it a little, knew they were only adding fuel to a fire that was already burning.

Lost in his own mind again, running his fingers in circles just beneath the edge of one bracer, Adam didn't notice Lawrence appear in front of him, wasn't quick enough to bat away hands before one came for his throat, clutching _hard_ and using his surprise as leverage to push him back against a wall. "Lawrence, what the fuck-"

" _Hush_." Lawrence's voice comes out as a hiss, a dangerous noise to hear in a lonely room.

Adam doesn't struggle against the hand, he just tilts his head back against the wall, relishing in the throbbing behind his eyes as Lawrence's fingers curl around the sides of his throat. His hat falls to the ground, discarded, and he can't bring himself to care.

"Wouldn't want anyone to hear us, would you?" Lawrence still sounds dangerous even though he's in costume, the studded collar sitting against the tendons in his neck, tensed like he's about to strike. Adam allows his eyes to close and watches the colour change on the back of his eyelids, breathing heavily, his leather pants tightening ever so slightly.

Adam feels Lawrence slide closer, the fur of Lawrence's coat soft against his skin, catching on the thin loops of his shirt. He knows that Lawrence knows that he's getting hard from the treatment, the punishment, that he deserves it for being an asshole for so much of the day. Distantly, Adam also knows that there are _people_ just beyond the temporary walls, probably guardians waiting to pick them up after the panel, and fans eager for photos.

That doesn't stop Adam's involuntary reaction to Lawrence's proximity or demeanour. Lawrence presses his entire body against Adam's, his hand still around loosely around Adam's throat, gentle enough to allow blood to flow, but firm enough to demand attention. Adam moans through gritted teeth as Lawrence inserts a thigh between his legs, pushes a knee against his now very interested cock. He cants his hips forward, hiding his hands in the gap between the wall and his ass so he doesn't touch. He knows better than to touch. "Lawrence," he whispers, needy.

"Adam," comes the response, whispered beside his ear. Lawrence removes his hand from Adam's neck and Adam almost immediately misses the gentle pressure against his arteries, the power in the contact. "Have to keep quiet now." Lawrence's fingertips stroke against Adam's jawline, behind his ear, the lightest of touches.

Lawrence considers his words for a moment, leans close, speaks directly into Adam's ear. "You lied to me, though." He's barely audible, purring the words, although to Adam the threat is clear, and he twitches forward, pushing himself against Lawrence's thigh. Adam can feel the blood rushing in his ears, in his cheeks, in his cock, and he searches desperately for something to focus on, to ground him. "I told you," Lawrence murmurs, and Adam digs his nails into his palm because Lawrence _did_ , he was explicit about honesty, "but you didn't listen. So now look where we are."

At that, Lawrence draws back, continues to bracket Adam's legs with his own, but leans until he can brace both hands against Adam's chest, scrape delicate lines between the mesh pattern of the shirt with his nails. "Open your eyes." A demand, soft, but impossible to ignore. Adam waits a moment, tries to focus - really, he does - but he takes too long and Lawrence suddenly twists one of his nipples, forcing a gasp from between his lips. " _Open your eyes_. And stay silent." Adam opens his eyes and his vision is fuzzy from how tightly he's been squeezing them closed.

"I won't ask again."

Once Adam's vision clarifies, he can see that Lawrence is affected too, even though he tries not to be. His pupils are dilated - and it's not just because of the low light - and his breath is slow and steady only because he holds it like that, measures it carefully. Adam on the other hand is being taken apart slowly and he knows it, standing debauched against the wall, aching hard in his unforgiving leather pants, his hands folded neatly behind his ass.

"There are people out there, you know that?" Lawrence brushes his thumb over the abused nipple, rubs the rough mesh of the shirt over Adam's skin. "They're all here to see you." Adam almost opens his mouth to deny it, to say that the fans love him the least of the group, but the heat of Lawrence's gaze stops him. "You know they are. All the pretty girls so desperate for you, all the pretty boys pretending not to stare." Lawrence drags his other hand down Adam's body, leaving behind a trail of fire, and dips his fingertips below the waistband of Adam's pants, presses in hard and rubs against thin skin over muscle over bone.

Lawrence leans in. "Even James stares at you, you know that? Even Elyse." Adam's eyes are threatening to close again, to stop the onslaught of emotion that rushes over him. He's seen James' eyes on him from a distance, knows that Lawrence has seen it too. Sure, Wilhelm and Koko have flirted, and Ripher and Schling have shared a joint or three, but James and Adam have never ventured close to each other, two planets in orbit around something in the center of their universe.

And to consider Elyse looking at him? Adam blinks for a long second, uncomfortable in his skin, wishing that Lawrence's torturous fingertips would do something. Elyse was the perfect blend of gorgeous and funny, sharp wit hidden behind a thick layer of modesty. God, Adam loved her, but never more than he did James, which was never more than he did Lawrence.

Adam watched Lawrence smirk at his reaction, the corners of his eyes turning up, softness almost returning to them. "They love you. _Everyone_ loves you. But," he paused, removed his hand from Adam's pants and grabbed him hard on the chin. "You don't deserve that today." Lawrence stepped away, drawing a whine out of Adam that was almost immediately silenced, bitten back behind gritted teeth.

"On your knees, Kovic." Lawrence has to speak up to cross the distance between them now, and even then Adam struggles to hear over the noise of the convention, again acutely aware of where they are. He obeys anyway, drops to his the ground, cracking his kneecaps against the carpet-over-concrete floor, and ends up just below eye level with Lawrence's cock.

Lars' frankly ridiculous red leggings leave little to the imagination even when Lawrence isn't hard, but now that he is - and a tiny part of Adam delights in that, more evidence that reminds him that despite their situation, Lawrence isn't always chiseled of stone - the leggings are obscene. Adam can't recall how long they've been alone, it must have been only minutes, but the rushing in his head pulls it to hours, time counted in tiny bursts of pain where his nails continue to mark his palms, threatening to draw blood.

Adam breathes slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth, whispering warm breath across the wet patch spreading over the leggings at the head of Lawrence's cock, a patch that would mirror his own if the leather had even an inch more give to it. He's not captivated, but he's distracted, eyes glazing as he considers his precarious position, feels the uncomfortable thrum of his own erection trapped in his pants, the gentle rumble of the thousands of people on the show floor below them, and it isn't until Lawrence digs two fingers into the flesh below his chin that he looks up.

"What are you thinking?" Lawrence's words are innocuous but Adam knows he wants the truth, knows he's in this position for avoiding his feelings. He wants to look away from the expectant gaze, but he recalls Lawrence's earlier threat, the way the low words sent a spike of heat through him, and maintains eye contact, unblinking.

"I'm," Adam has to pause, to swallow, to think. His tongue feels useless, his senses overwhelmed, the heat of Lawrence beside his cheek, the thick smell of arousal between them. "Thinking of you," he finishes, feeling stupid, heat rising to colour his cheeks embarrassed atop the flush of lust.

Lawrence laughs, removes his fingers. "Flattering, Adam." The sarcasm in his voice could almost be relaxing, a far cry from the commands of earlier, and his eyes crinkle fondly at the corners. "But untrue." Adam blinks, finally, sweat prickling along his hairline. Moving suddenly, Lawrence unbuckles his belt and Adam freezes for a moment, watches Lawrence brush his fingers across the sharp studs and run his tongue along the tip of his canine. "Too loud," Lawrence muses, and discards the belt carelessly, the clatter of metal and leather muffled against the carpet. Adam's wound too tight to be relieved, wants desperately to shove his pants down and jerk himself off, wants the feeling of Lawrence's cock in his mouth, wants _some_ kind of touch against his skin.

With the rounded point of his boot, Lawrence - very unfairly - nudges at Adam's straining cock, earning himself another choked-off moan. "You're thinking about this." He runs his fingers along the side of Adam's jaw, scraping blunt nails against faint stubble, tapping fingertips against his closed lips. "And these." Then, slowly slowly, he pulls the waistband of his leggings away from his body and slides them down, freeing his cock and breathing in sharply at the sudden rush of air against it. "And this," he whispers, and Adam can do nothing but nod, aching to kiss the skin before him.

"Better than whatever was in your head before," Lawrence smiles, showing all of his teeth. Adam feels breathless, like he doesn't know where to look, what to do. His fingers are numb, clasped behind his back, obedient to the end.

Lawrence tilts his hips forwards. Adam whines, then whispers, "Can I?"

A wider smile. Genuine, but predatory. "Permission granted, Kovic."

Adam breathes out all in a rush and finally flexes his fingers to feel the blood rush back into them. He keeps them behind his back but relishes in the prickles of pins and needles beneath his skin as he leans forward and fits his lips to Lawrence's cock, the bitter taste of pre-come salting his tongue. He's never been more eager to suck dick, he feels like Lawrence has been keeping him on edge forever, and he so desperately wants to turn off his brain, to forget the fans and the signings and the performative _bullshit_ of his professional life.

Almost immediately he forgets Lawrence's instructions to keep his eyes open, and he lets them fall shut, knowing anyway that Lawrence loves the fan of his eyelashes across his arousal-reddened cheeks. Humming almost imperceptibly, Adam swirls his tongue around the head of Lawrence's cock, soft flesh around a solid core, imagining he can feel blood pumping through thick veins in time with the bassline of Lawrence's heart.

Adam keeps the pace slow, unsure of what Lawrence expects of him. He sucks in his cheeks and hears a rushed intake of breath above him, feels fingertips along his sharpened cheekbones, fragile like broken glass. Bobbing his head towards Lawrence's pelvis earns him a hand in his hair, fingers tugging at unruly strands and rewarding him with delicious needles of pain against his scalp.

Adam breathes carefully through his nose and takes Lawrence as deep as he can, tears rushing to his eyes as he holds himself there, relishing in Lawrence's stuttered moan and whisper-quiet prayers of "fuck, Adam, _fuck_ ". Adam pulls back, but only gets a moment to recover his breath before both of Lawrence's hands are against the back of his neck, dragging him back in. Adam feels debauched, can't think of anything but Lawrence, can barely think of himself, can't even remember what put him in such a mood that morning.

"You're so good, Adam, you've always been good," Lawrence is mumbling, unable to keep up the charade of being stoic, dominant, uncaring. His thrusts are still even, so Adam grazes his teeth along the underside of Lawrence's cock, drawing out a gasp and causing the fingers in his hair to twist. "So _fucking_ good with my dick in your mouth, you want to choke on it again, hm?" Adam's barely focusing, saliva dripping from the corner of his lips and down onto his chest, sticking in the mesh. He's blank, euphoric, distantly hears his name again from Lawrence and just nods as he's pushed forwards until his nose meets Lawrence's soft skin, his mouth and throat open, thumb clenched in his fist so he doesn't gag.

Lawrence pulls back until he's almost free of Adam's mouth, and Adam chases him, whining low in his throat, almost in his lungs, in his heart. "Adam, christ, you're perfect." He hears the praise only distantly, but he feels warmth swell within his body that has nothing to do with the cock in his mouth or the one between his legs.

"Hey, look at me," Lawrence whispers, finally pulling out, holding Adam's head back with fingers in his hair. "Adam."

Adam opens his eyes, waits a moment before he can focus on Lawrence's blissed-out face, a thin ring of hazel around dark pupils, a pale blush high on his cheekbones and spreading across his neck and chest, hiding inside his artfully torn shirt. Lawrence looks like Adam feels, fucking ridiculously turned on, aching in his pants again now that he's been brought back to reality a little. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Adam whispers, and he means it this time.

Lawrence chuckles, faintly says " _Awesome_ ", then looks annoyed at himself for breaking character. He palms the length of his cock, dampened with rapidly drying saliva, and rings his fingers around the head. "You can touch now, if you want to." Oh, Adam wants to, and he shakes his fingers free from behind his back to reach out, wrapping one hand around the parts that Lawrence isn't already touching and stroking gently, his other hand holding himself steady on Lawrence's hip.

"Wait, actually," Lawrence speaks, and Adam drops his hands immediately, unsure of what to do with them, grasping his knees instead of returning them to parade rest behind his back. "Ah fuck, no," Lawrence trips over his words uncharacteristically, releases his cock, takes a deep breath before starting again. "It's okay, just get up here, get your back against the wall."

Adam is quick to comply, pushing himself off the ground with a groan - aching cock, aching chest, aching bones - and backing up towards the only solid wall in the temporary room. "You're gonna kill me, Lawrence," he mutters, since the spell's been broken a little, but he keeps his hands off himself, just in case Lawrence flicks the switch back to domineering. Lawrence looks pleased at Adam's restraint, and shuffles in closer, taking a moment to kick off his boots and shove the leggings off onto the floor, dumping his fur coat atop the pile.

"Kill you how, Adam?" Lawrence is smug now, only in his torn shirt and glasses, looking down at Adam's poor trapped dick. "Like _this_?" He punctuates his phrasing by grabbing Adam's cock, hard, through the leather, and Adam almost drops to the ground, whimpering. Satisfied with the reaction, Lawrence finally, _finally_ unbuckles Adam's belt, leaving it in the loops as he drags the leather pants down to Adam's knees, where they end up mostly stuck.

Adam's hit with another rush of sensation, the flow of air across his freed cock is practically orgasmic, and he feels any lingering discomfort pumping away with the fresh and unrestricted flow of blood. Looking down, Lawrence's cock looks perfect next to his, hard and blood dark. Viciously, Adam thinks _fuck the rules_ , self-imposed or otherwise, and raises his hands to hold both of them together, gasping and biting his lip at the feeling of flesh on flesh. 

"Fuck," Lawrence breathes out, and takes one of Adam's hands gently in his own, drawing his fingers into his mouth to lave them with his tongue. Adam's not sure he can get harder, feels like all the blood in his body has abandoned him for greener pastures, but the sound of Lawrence losing it and the sight of his fingers between Lawrence's lips might actually just stop his heart. Adam thrusts shallowly, unable to control himself, and Lawrence graciously gives him his hand back, sloppy with spit.

Leaning forward, Lawrence hisses directly into Adam's ear. "Fucking do it. _Do it_. People are right out there, fucking waiting for you, begging for you," he sounds wrecked, and he hasn't even had a cock in his throat. Adam moves his hands experimentally, finding the best way to slot their dicks together, a little moan escaping at the slip-side of hot skin on skin. "But you'll only ever beg for me, won't you?" Adam nods, his jaw slack, he's been edged forever and Lawrence's dirty talking always hits some spot with him, a dark part of him that relishes the possessiveness, the threats.

Adam feels his orgasm building as he thrusts against Lawrence's cock, his fingers bumping each other as he moves their bodies together. Lawrence's hands are roaming his chest, brushing gently over his nipples, particularly the one he abused earlier, and he leans down to catch it in his mouth, tearing the mesh with his teeth before licking over the skin with reverence and sucking a hickey into Adam's pectoral.

Another noise escapes from Lawrence, dark and biting, he sounds close. Adam can't bring himself to ask if Lawrence is gonna come, if he wants to mark Adam's body any more than he already has. There are still half-moons in his palms, a fresh bruise on his chest, and Adam is gagging for Lawrence's orgasm, to have it hidden under clothes for the rest of the day, a sticky reminder of what got him out of his damn mind and back into the world.

Instead of having to ask, Lawrence brushes Adam's hands away and grips himself hard, harder than Adam ever would. He jacks himself off with efficiency, resting his forehead against Adam's shoulder until he hits his peak, and then he leans up for an open kiss, muffling his deep moan against Adam's lips and teeth. Adam feels Lawrence come across his belly, stray droplets dripping towards Adam's cock. Adam wishes they were on his tongue.

"Fu-hu-huuuck," Lawrence drags out the word into three parts, breathing it into Adam's mouth. "So good." Despite the momentary lack of touch, Adam's no less close to coming himself, desperation settled deep into his bones. The pit of his stomach is on fire and he feels static coursing across his skin, he's practically vibrating with need.

Adam clears his throat. "Lawrence, _please_." Lawrence grins and twists the fingers of one hand into the mesh shirt until it digs into Adam's skin, more lines of pain flashing across Adam's body.

"I'm so glad you asked." Lawrence drags a finger through a line of his come, spreading it across his fingers and using it to soften the drag of his skin against Adam's cock. Adam's so high strung he feels close to breaking, thrusting his hips into the tight warmth of Lawrence's fingers and keening as he swiftly approaches his orgasm.

The sound of pounding blood is all Adam hears. He forgets himself, forgets where he is, and Lawrence removes the hand in his shirt to replace it around his throat, pinning him to the wall. The dangerous rush burns bright in Lawrence's eyes, and he leans in close, murmuring words Adam struggles to hear above the lust in his blood.

"Come on, Adam," Lawrence encourages. " _Come for me_."

At that, Adam is done, the buildup of the past however long crashes over him and he lets out a long groan, releasing days of tension. He comes over Lawrence's fingers as he clenches his hands into fists against the wall, leaning into Lawrence's tight fingers around his throat until he feels lightheaded. It's fucked up, what gets him off, he thinks blandly, chest heaving with exertion.

Moments later, a sharp and still-unfamiliar accent floats through the walls, tinged with nervousness. "Uhh... everything okay in there?" Adam's eyes snap open, he hadn't even realised he'd shut them. He catches Lawrence's glance, feeling his own nerves mirrored in there.

Lawrence removes his hand from Adam's throat. "F... fine," Adam coughs out, rubbing his neck. "I hit my knee on the fucking table getting out of these pants."

There's a chorus of nervous giggling out there, a little further away than the first voice, but he gets a distant "Okay, hope you're all good, we just gotta get you back soon for your next thing" in response, and he hears faint footsteps padding away across the carpet.

Lawrence releases Adam's softening cock, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss before pulling away completely. "Better?" he asks carefully, taking care to not stumble over the costume he so carelessly dumped on the ground.

Adam sighs, but it's light. He doesn't feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, at least at the moment. He'll give it time.

"Yeah." It's not even a hint of a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> my sanctuary, you're holy to me
> 
> (title from church by fall out boy, because sucking dick is like a prayer)
> 
> i'm really sorry if anybody ever puts an easy two and two together and works out who i am and why i have such accurate descriptions of very random things from one specific convention in twenty seventeen.


End file.
